The stadium, hippodrome or “Lageion” of Ancient Alexandria

Just to the south of the Serapeum, which stood on a hill, was a Greek stadium or hippdrome.  The temple overlooked it, and there was seating.  The following map by Judith McKenzie indicates the location (click to enlarge):[1]

alexandria_ptolemaic_mckenzie

The area of the stadium was built over in the 19th century.  But it was still visible when the French army under Napoleon occupied the area, and so there is a plan, with notes, in the Description de l’Egypte, 5th vol. of plates, planche 39, as I learned from the splendid article by McKenzie &c.  So I went and searched for the original and here it is, although north is bottom left for some reason (again click on the image for full size):

lageion2

The “grand colonne” at the bottom left is Pompey’s pillar – the pillar erected in the Serapeum by Diocletian.  The temple stood on that squareish plateau, with the 100 steps of the entrance descending to the left around where the pillar is.  The Arab “Chemin d’Alexandrie” (Alexandria road) runs to the east of the temple, along the Roman street.

The left hand end of the stadium, is marked with “ruins”, where a semi-circular wall is visible, mostly at the north and middle.  Distinct remains are visible at b-b-b.  The most recognisable remains are at a-a-a.

Notable in the picture is the “spina”, at c, the Roman centre structure in all their chariot-racing stadiums.  The Greek stadium is narrow, intended for foot races; so the spina would be a later addition.  But it was only just visible above the ground to Napoleon’s scholars.  It was about 1m above the floor of the arena.  At e was a hole for the meta, the cone-shaped turning post at the end of the spina.

At d is a portion of a stylobate, from a temple frieze, some 2.3m high, next to the steps of an “amphitheatre”.  Possibly part of the stadium was converted to a theatre at some point, as elsewhere.  At f were remains of columns.  At l the remains of a small obelisk.  At o is the exit from the circus, leading to the necropolis.

The interior length of the stadium was 559.37 m, taken from P-P.  The internal width was 51.6m.  The exterior length, between i and q, including the “amphitheatre”, is 614.6m.

Pretty interesting, for a monument now vanished!  There is a book on the architecture of Alexandria, by the same Judith McKenzie, accessible in Google Books preview here, which includes material on the Lageion, and seems frankly very interesting by itself.

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  1. [1]Judith S. McKenzie, Sheila Gibson and A. T. Reyes, “Reconstructing the Serapeum in Alexandria from the Archaeological Evidence”, Journal of Roman Studies 94 (2004), pp. 73-121; p.75.  JSTOR.

List of volumes of the “Description de l’Égypte, ou Recueil des observations et des recherches qui ont été faites en Égypte pendant l’expédition de l’armée française”

Today I found that I needed to consult a plate in the Napoleonic Description de l’Egypte.  I had some difficulty in finding online volumes, and so I compiled the following list.  Please feel free to offer additions in the comments.

 First edition (Imperial edition)

  • Book 01 (1809), Volume I – Antiquités, Descriptions. Heidelberg.
  • Book 02 (1818), Volume II – Antiquités, Descriptions.  GoogleGoogleHeidelberg.
  • Book 03 (1809), Volume I – Antiquités, Mémoires. Google. Heidelberg.
  • Book 04 (1818), Volume II – Antiquités, Mémoires.  Google.
  • Book 05 (1809), Volume I – Etat Moderne. GoogleGoogle. Heidelberg.
  • Book 06 (1822), Volume II – Etat Moderne.  GoogleHeidelberg.
  • Book 07 (1822), Volume II – Etat Moderne (2´ Partie).  Google.  Google. Heidelberg.
  • Book 08 (1809), Volume I – Histoire Naturelle.  GallicaGoogle. Heidelberg.
  • Book 09 (1813), Volume II – Histoire Naturelle. Heidelberg.
  • Book 10 (18xx), Volume I – Préface et explication des planches.  Toulouse.
  • Book 11 (1809), Volume I – Planches : Antiquités.  Heidelberg.  Toulouse.
  • Book 12 (1809), Volume II – Planches : Antiquités.  Heidelberg.  Toulouse.
  • Book 13 (18xx), Volume III – Planches : Antiquités.  Heidelberg.  Toulouse.
  • Book 14 (1809), Volume IV – Planches : Antiquités.  Heidelberg.  Toulouse.
  • Book 15 (1822), Volume V – Planches : Antiquités.  Heidelberg.  Toulouse.
  • Book 16 (1809), Volume I – Planches : Etat Moderne.  Heidelberg.  Toulouse.
  • Book 17 (1817), Volume II – Planches : Etat Moderne.  Heidelberg.  Toulouse.
  • Book 18 (1809), Volume I – Planches : Histoire Naturelle.  Heidelberg.  Toulouse.
  • Book 19 (1809), Volume II – Planches : Histoire Naturelle.  Heidelberg.  Toulouse.
  • Book 20 (1809), Volume IIbis – Planches : Histoire Naturelle.
  • Book 21 (18xx), Volume I – Planches : Antiquités. (“Mammutfolio”)
  • Book 22 (18xx), Volume I – Planches : Etat Moderne. (“Mammutfolio”)
  • Book 23 (1818), Volume I – Planches : Carte géographiques et topographique.(“Mammutfolio”)  Heidelberg.

The volumes at Heidelberg. have a 300mb or 80mb download of PDF for each. The Toulouse volumes mostly seem to be imperfect.

Second edition (Panckoucke edition)

  • Book 01 (1821), Volume I – Tome Premier Antiquités-Descriptions. GallicaArchive.
  • Book 02 (1821), Volume II – Tome Deuxième Antiquités-Descriptions.  GallicaArchive.
  • Book 03 (1821), Volume III – Tome Troisième Antiquités-Descriptions.  GallicaArchive.
  • Book 04 (1822), Volume IV – Tome Quatrième Antiquités-Descriptions. Gallica.
  • Book 05 (1829), Volume V – Tome Cinquième Antiquités-Descriptions. GallicaGoogleGoogle.
  • Book 06 (1822), Volume VI – Tome Sixième Antiquités-Mémoires.  Gallica.  GoogleArchive.
  • Book 07 (1822), Volume VII – Tome Septième Antiquités-Mémoires. GallicaGoogleArchive.
  • Book 08 (1822), Volume VIII – Tome Huitième Antiquités-Mémoires. Gallica.  Google.
  • Book 09 (1829), Volume IX – Tome Neuvième Antiquités-Mémoires et Descriptions. Gallica.
  • Book 10 (1823), Volume X – Explication Des Planches, D’Antiquités.  Gallica.  GoogleArchive.
  • Book 11 (1822), Volume XI – Tome Onzième Etat Moderne. GallicaArchiveArchive.
  • Book 12 (1822), Volume XII – Tome Douzième Etat Moderne. GallicaGallicaGoogleArchive.
  • Book 13 (1823), Volume XIII – Tome Treizième Etat Moderne.  Google.
  • Book 14 (1826), Volume XIV – Tome Quatorzième Etat Moderne.  Gallica.  Archive.
  • Book 15 (1826), Volume XV – Tome Quinzième Etat Moderne. Gallica.  Archive.
  • Book 16 (1825), Volume XVI – Tome Seizième Etat Moderne.  GallicaGoogleArchive.
  • Book 17 (1824), Volume XVII – Tome Dix-Septième Etat Moderne. GallicaArchive.
  • Book 18 (1826), Volume XVIII – Tome Dix-Huitième Etat Moderne.  Gallica.  GoogleArchive.
  • Book 19 (1829), Volume XVIII – Tome Dix-Huitième (2´ Partie) Etat Moderne.  Gallica.  GoogleArchive.
  • Book 20 (1830), Volume XVIII – Tome Dix-Huitième (3´ Partie) Etat Moderne.  GallicaGoogleArchive.
  • Book 21 (1824), Volume XIX – Tome Dix-Neuvième Histoire Naturelle, Botanique-Météorologie.  Gallica.
  • Book 22 (1825), Volume XX – Tome Vingtième Histoire Naturelle. GoogleArchive.
  • Book 23 (1826), Volume XXI – Tome Vingt-Unième Histoire Naturelle, Minieralogie – Zoologie. GallicaArchive.
  • Book 24 (1827), Volume XXII – Tome Vingt-Deuxième Histoire Naturelle, Zoologie. Animaux Invertébrés
    (suite). GallicaGoogleArchive.
  • Book 25 (1828), Volume XXIII – Tome Vingt-Troisième Histoire Naturelle. Zoologie. Animaux Invertébrés
    (suite). Animaux Venteures. GallicaGoogle.
  • Book 26 (1829), Volume XXIV – Tome Vingt-Quatrième Histoire Naturelle, Zoologie. GallicaGoogle.
  • Book 27 (1820), Volume I – Planches : Antiquités.
  • Book 28 (182x), Volume II – Planches : Antiquités.
  • Book 29 (182x), Volume III – Planches : Antiquités.
  • Book 30 (182x), Volume IV – Planches : Antiquités.
  • Book 31 (1823), Volume V – Planches : Antiquités.
  • Book 32 (1822), Volume I – Planches : Etat Moderne.
  • Book 33 (1823), Volume II – Planches : Etat Moderne.
  • Book 34 (1826), Volume I – Planches : Histoire Naturelle.
  • Book 35 (1826), Volume II – Planches : Histoire Naturelle.
  • Book 36 (1826), Volume IIbis – Planches : Histoire Naturelle.
  • Book 37 (1826), Volume I – Planches : Atlas géographique.

The raw list of volumes is from Wikipedia, which unfortunately had no links.

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Timestamp: Alexandria in the 5th century. Sinister goings-on in the ruins of the Serapeum, in Peter the Iberian

Peter the Iberian is a name that was unfamiliar to me.  He was a Georgian prince who lived in the 5th century A.D. and ended his days as a monk.  His Life was written by his close friend, John Rufus, in Greek.  The Greek is lost, but a Syriac translation survives in two manuscripts.  These are Ms. Berlin Staatsbibliothek, Sachau 321, written in 741 AD; and Ms. London British Library Addit. 12174, written in 1197 in Melitene.  It was edited by Raabe from these in 1895,[1] and the text printed with an English translation in 2008 by Cornelia Horn &c.[2]

By the time of Peter the Iberian, the temple of the Serapeum, standing on the highest point of ground in ancient Alexandria, had been ruined for two generations.  But the colonnaded enclosure in which it had stood still existed, as it was to do for centuries.  At the dark of night, however, unusual activity might be seen by the curious.

John Rufus takes up the tale:

 (§99) The daughter of one of the city’s notables was sick with a severe sickness. She was his only [child, moreover,] and he loved her like an only [child]. Her mother was a lover of Christ and a believer, and she greatly rejoiced in the saints. The father was indeed a Christian, but he was very much seized by the error and friendship of pagan philosophers. Hence, when he received promises from a certain leader of the magicians that, if [the magician] were to take the girl and bring her at night to the Serapeum and there perform on her rites[1] and [other] abominations of the arts of magic, he could heal her, he gladly obeyed and prepared to give the girl over [to him].

When her mother learned these [things] from a slave who [had become] aware of [it], who was a Christian and a strong believer, immediately she sent for the blessed Peter, informing him about the plan of the devil. She asked that he not disregard her and her husband and the girl, who were running the risk of falling into a real death through provoking the Lord to anger. The blessed one heard this and was inflamed with zeal, crying out with a loud voice, “Lord, shall the wicked live?”’

Having said this, immediately he took some of those saints who were with him in the night, and they went to the girl’s mother. He found her sitting with her daughter and tearing [herself] apart with weeping and lamentations and at the same time ensuring that the girl would not be delivered over by her husband to the wicked [magician]. Commanding that all those [who] were superfluous should go outside, he took oil and anointed the girl. After he had given her the holy mysteries, had consoled her mother with many words of consolation, and had encouraged her to trust undoubtedly in Christ, the Lord of life, he returned to where he was staying. The next day that girl was suddenly found healthy and free from her severe sickness.

The philosopher, however, [who] had contended with God was laid to rest. In this way the judgment of the saint, which he cried out when he was enraged, saying, “Lord, shall this wicked one be alive?” proceeded swiftly to [its] fulfilment, so that in all the city this wonder would become known and everyone would praise God on account of his grace given to his saints, and they would run to the blessed one and cleave to [him], and they would be strengthened more and more in the orthodox faith.

  1.  Syriac is equivalent to the Greek teleutai, sacred or magical rituals.

It is interesting to see that the location for the pagan ritual – or magical ritual – was the Serapeum.  A “philosopher” is becoming what he was in the medieval period, a “knowing person” who may well know magic.

This story is interesting as showing how superstition was endemic, among pagans and Christians in the city.  Fifty years later, the Alexandrian pagans were still going to the shrine of Isis at Menouthis to seek healings and the like.

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  1. [1]R. Raabe, Petrus der Iberer, Leipzig, 1895.  Online here.  P.71 is the relevant page for us.
  2. [2]Cornelia B. Horn, Robert R. Phenix, The Lives of Peter the Iberian, Theodosius of Jerusalem, and the Monk Romanus, SBL 2008.  Ms info on p.lxxi, chap 99 on p.147 in Google Books preview.

What did the Serapeum in Alexandria actually look like?

The destruction of the Serapeum in Alexandria in 392 AD by the Christian mob, headed by its leader, the patriarch Theophilus, is a famous moment.  It was the last temple to be closed, and by far the most famous.

It stood on the only high ground in the city, in the South-West.  Rufinus gives us a description of the destruction of the statue:

… a rumor had been spread by the pagans that if a human hand touched the statue, the earth would split open on the spot and crumble into the abyss, while the sky would crash down at once.

This gave the people pause for a moment, until one of the soldiers, armed with faith rather than weapons, seized a double-headed axe, drew himself up, and struck the old fraud on the jaw with all his might. A roar went up from both sides, but the sky did not fall, nor did the earth collapse. Thus with repeated strokes he felled the smoke-grimed deity of rotten wood, which upon being thrown down burned as easily as dry wood when it was kindled.

After this the head was wrenched from the neck, the bushel having been taken down, and dragged off; then the feet and other members were chopped off with axes and dragged apart with ropes attached, and piece by piece, each in a different place, the decrepit dotard was burned to ashes before the eyes of the Alexandria which had worshiped him.

Last of all the torso which was left was put to the torch in the amphitheater, and that was the end of the vain superstition and ancient error of Serapis.[1]

But what did the temple actually look like?

There is a rather marvellous article in the Journal of Roman Studies, by Judith S. McKenzie &c., that tells us.[2]  What it does is to sift both the literary and archaeological evidence, and a very fine job it does too.  In addition it gives some very useful pictures!  These, as ever, are worth a thousand words.

The site consisted of a large platform on top of the only hill in Alexandria.  A wall surrounded the platform, which was a colonnade on the inside.  The temple, a classical structure, stood inside the colonnade.

Here is a diagram of how the temple looked in the 3rd century.  The sea is to the North.

The Serapeum of Alexandria, by J.S.McKenzie
The Serapeum of Alexandria, by J.S.McKenzie

A hundred steps led up to the main entrance of the temple from the East.  Inside the entrance was a pool of some kind.  To his left, the visitor would have seen a building whose nature and appearance is unclear; the “south building”.

To his right he would see a classical Roman temple.  This was the temple itself, in which resided the wooden statue of Serapis.

There were also subterranean passages, the entrance to which is shown near the entrance to the main temple, and which still exist.

The emperor Diocletian added a monumental pillar late in the same century, which still stands and is known as “Pompey’s Pillar”.  The temple then looked like this:

Serapeum_post-diocletian

 

When the temple was destroyed, it seems that it was the buildings inside the colonnade that were demolished.  The main enclosure and its colonnade remained, and are mentioned by medieval Arabic writers, until, as we learn from Abd al-Latif, a governor under Saladin destroyed them in 1169.

The site of the Serapeum was not turned into a church, but became disused.  Two churches arose nearby, rather than inside.

Paganism in Alexandria did not die at once, of course.  The Life of Peter the Iberian, by John Rufus, in fact describes a pagan healing ritual which took place in the 5th century in this very same enclosure of the Serapeum.  We have also seen in the Life of Severus of Antioch, ca. 500 AD, that pagans made trips to the temple of Isis at Menouthis, still open even then.

I hope to explore some more of the footnotes of Dr McKenzie’s article, but I would like to conclude with some very interesting words from it, which appear at the beginning:

Reconstructions by archaeologists are often treated with scepticism by historians and literary critics. Thus, it is essential to present in detail the evidence on which these reconstruction drawings of the Serapeum are based, as well as the reasoning involved, in a way which hopefully is accessible to non-archaeologists.

This article must be the basis for anyone who wants to think about this ancient site.  Recommended.

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  1. [1]Philip R. Amidon (tr), The Church History of Rufinus of Aquileia books 10 and 11, 1997, 81-82.
  2. [2]Judith S. McKenzie, Sheila Gibson and A. T. Reyes, “Reconstructing the Serapeum in Alexandria from the archaeological evidence. JRS 92 (2004) 73-121.  JSTOR.

Images of Theophilus of Alexandria and the Serapeum in a 5th century papyrus codex

Today I came across an image which, although striking, was previously unknown to me.  It can be found on Wikipedia here, and in other places.  It depicts Theophilus of Alexandria, standing atop the Serapeum at Alexandria:

Goleniscev Papyrus - Theophilus and the Serapeum
Goleniscev Papyrus – Theophilus and the Serapeum

The destruction of the Serapeum in Alexandria in 392 AD – the date is not precisely certain – at the hands of a mob, incited and led by the patriarch Theophilus, was an iconic moment in the end of paganism and indeed of antiquity.

The image above comes from the remains of a papyrus codex, once the property of Russian Egyptologist and collector Vladimir Golenischev. Today it is in the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, with the other Golenischev papyri.  The codex may be as early as the 5th century AD, although others date it later.  It contains the remains of a Greek text, the Alexandrian World Chronicle.

The text and images were published – in colour! – in 1905 by Bauer and Strzygowski,[1] and, even better, the publication is online at the German digital library here.

The page of the publication from which the image comes is here.  A local copy of the page is below (click for full size image):

Alexandrian World Chronicle, fol. 6v. Theophilus and the Serapeum, &c.
Alexandrian World Chronicle, fol. 6v. Theophilus and the Serapeum, &c.

The text in grey is reconstructed by Bauer, although the later discovery of an additional fragment has verified at least some of his text.

Fortunately Richard Burgess has placed on Academia.edu here a paper which discusses this page in great deal.[2]  He gives a translation of that page, as follows, and I have abbreviated some of his very interesting notes for the general reader:

In this year with his son
Honorius Theodosius arrived
in Rome and crowned him
emperor on 13 June and
gave a congiarium to the Romans.
108. Augustus Valentinian IIII and
Neoterius vir clarissimus, when
[…] was augustalis.
Tatianus and Symmachus
viri clarissimi, when Evagrius was augustalis.

In this year Valentinian
died in Vienna
on 10 June and Eugenius
was proclaimed emperor
on 22 August,
which is 23 Thoth.
109. Augustus Arcadius II and Ru-
finus vir clarissimus, when the same
Evagrius was augustalis
of Alexandria.
In this year […] Eugenius
was executed on 6 January,
which is 8 Thoth, and in the same
year… [the codex ends here]

There are also titles above the figures: the one of the left has “Saint Theophilus”, while the kneeling figure is the luckless “Eugenius”.

The picture shows Theophilus standing on top of a façade with columns and a triangular entrance, which is painted in blue and yellow.  In the entrance is the bust of a beardless man with curly hair and a “modius” jar on his head.  This is characteristic of Serapis, and temples are often represented by a few columns and the cult image, so this is not necessarily an exact picture of the temple.  It would be interesting to wonder if the colours represent something real about the painting of the temple, tho.

Note also the colour of the statue – the face is blackened.  This confirms a statement by Clement of Alexandria in his Exhortation to the Greeks, ch. 3:

He gave personal orders, therefore, that a statue of Osiris his own ancestor should be elaborately wrought at great expense ; and the statue was made by the artist Bryaxis, — not the famous Athenian, but another of the same name, — who has used a mixture of various materials in its construction. He had filings of gold, silver, bronze, iron, lead, and even tin ; and not a single Egyptian stone was lacking, there being pieces of sapphire, hematite, emerald, and topaz also. Having reduced them all to powder and mixed them, he stained the mixture dark blue (on account of which the colour of the statue is nearly black), and, mingling the whole with the pigment left over from the funeral rites of Osiris and Apis, a he moulded Sarapis; … [3].

At bottom right is a building, again with a triangular façade painted in blue and yellow, with two white columns to the left, and a roof in blue at the right.  Below the façade the “modius” appears again … so this is again the Serapeum, and this is confirmed by the caption to the left, “[Sa]rapitos to [i]eron”, the “Temple of Serapis”.  This designation for the Serapeum of Alexandria appears elsewhere in ancient literature.  Two figures stand to the left of the temple, dressed in grey-blue tunics with arms upraised; some have thought these to be monks throwing stones at the temple.

The entry in the Chronicle that described the destruction of the temple is sadly missing.  But it must have stood there, for there is no reason otherwise for these pictures to be there.

UPDATE (26/03/2018): A further image has reached me, found online at Twitter here.

St Theophilos, gospel in hand, standing atop of Serapeum in Alexandria from the so-called Alexandrian World Chronicle, prob. 6th C. It is an extraordinary example of a late antique illustrated papyrus.

Pushkin Museum Inv. Goleniscev 310

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  1. [1]A. Bauer and J. Strzygowski, Eine alexandrinische Weltchronik (1905), 71-3, pl. 6 Verso.
  2. [2]R.W. Burgess and Jitse H.F. Dijkstra, The ‘Alexandrian World Chronicle’, its Consularia and the Date of the Destruction of the Serapeum (with an Appendix on the List of Praefecti Augustales), Millennium Jahrbuch 10 (1013), 39-113.
  3. [3]Loeb translation, here

On finding my own books

It is early here.  The sky is the deep overcast shade of an English winter’s morning in November.  But it is warm, too warm to stay in bed, so I have risen to begin the day.  As I did so, I noted that I needed a new bedside book, and the whim struck me to read again a volume of the adventures of Fu Manchu.

The first three volumes in this series – The Mystery of Dr Fu Manchu, The Devil Doctor, and The Si-Fan Mysteries, were all published in the days when Sherlock Holmes was still living in 221B Baker Street.  They form a kind of trilogy, and belong firmly to the gas-light era.  They should appeal to every Holmes enthusiast.

Vaguely remembering the opening lines of The Devil Doctor, I went to look for my copy.  I know what it looks like – a sun-faded brownish cloth-covered hardback of the kind that litters bookdealers’ shelves.  But … I could not find it.

I have a shelf-full of the later Fu Manchu novels, and I knew where they were.  After browsing a bit, I found The Si-Fan Mysteries.  But where were the other two?

My eyes are not what they were, so I put on my reading glasses and looked along the shelves.  And … I still couldn’t find them.

Partly this is understandable.  I removed most of my books from my study last year, after that room began to take on a definite aroma of a second-hand bookshop.  In the process I discovered that my then cleaning lady had neglected to dust them – the cause of the smell – and a good cleaning dealt with the problem.  But when I put them back, being pressed for space, I double-banked some of the shelves with less-used volumes.

So I looked at the second row.  And I still couldn’t see The Devil Doctor.

Eventually I found The Mysteries of Dr Fu Manchu, a tall paperback reissue of the 1980’s standing in a seldom-used low bookcase where it has stood for 20 years.  That case was never reorganised, so I can only blame myself.  Once I knew the location of every book.  Now it seems that I don’t even remember where books are, that have stood where they are for decades.  It is not merely my eyesight that is fading.

Now this is a trivial problem, and probably caused by the sheer burden of daily life and the amount of things that I am legally obliged to remember to do, or be fined heavily.  I am not growing old yet!  But the problem is only because I once could rely on my memory for the location of my books, and I no longer can.

What to do?

One thing that I can do is to gather together the volumes of series.  When there is a shelf-full of one series, any volume in it can be located more easily.  But that still leaves a vast number of volumes.

Often the place where a book stands is determined by the size of the book and where it will fit on my shelves.  They are not interchangeable in physical form.  Otherwise the answer would be to start some classification system.

I don’t know what the answer is.  I wonder how people manage, once they have above 2,000 books, as most of us must?

(I never found The Devil Doctor.  But fortunately my memory had failed me: the book I wanted was actually The Si-Fan Mysteries!)

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New edition of Cyril of Alexandria’s “Against Julian” is soon to appear – offline, and very pricey

In the early 5th century, Cyril of Alexandria found it necessary to write a large apologetic work.  The book was in response to Julian the Apostate’s anti-Christian work Against the Galileans. This was written some 50 years earlier by the then emperor, but must have continued to circulate. Cyril made a series of extensive quotations from the work, reorganised them into a logical sequence (as he tells us at the start of book 2),  and wrote his own reply to each.  No doubt secretaries performed much of the manual labour, and Cyril dictated replies.

10 books of Contra Julianum have reached us, and a handful of fragments of the next 10 books also.  The work is little known in English, since no translation has been made into that language.  Indeed no complete translation has ever been made into any modern language.  The Sources Chretiennes began an edition, with a splendid French translation, but only a single volume, containing books 1 and 2, ever appeared.  No modern critical edition, even, existed.  Readers have been forced to rely on reprints of the 17th century Aubert edition.

For some years Christoph Riedweg and his team have been labouring at the task of making a critical edition of the text of this huge work.  An email today advises me that the first volume, containing the text – no translation – of books 1-5, will very soon be available in the GCS series, and published by De Gruyter.  The publisher’s information page is here.  It informs us that the work will be published in November 2015, and priced at $168.  De Gruyer kindly make a PDF available also, at precisely the same price.

Everyone should welcome this publication.  Contra Julianum contains any amount of useful information about antiquity and Christian thinking.  I look forward to the second volume also!

But … what a price!  And … I say that I look forward to a second volume, but there is no chance that I will ever own a copy of either; or even be able to use it, unless I come across a pirate copy.  It will, most likely, be most used in this manner.  This seems wrong.  But then, these books are not made for you or I.

Today there was an article in the Guardian on this very subject that every academic should read.  Here are some extracts, but it is worth reading in full.

Academics are being hoodwinked into writing books nobody can buy

An editor called me up to ask me if I’d like to write a book. I smelled a rat, but I played along…

A few months ago, an editor from an academic publisher got in touch to ask if I was interested in writing a book for them. …

“How much would the book be sold for?” I inquired, aware this might not be his favourite question. “£80,” he replied in a low voice.

“So there won’t be a cheaper paperback edition?” I asked, pretending to sound disappointed.

“No, I’m afraid not,” he said, “we only really sell to libraries. But we do have great sales reps that get the books into universities all across the world.”

“So how many copies do you usually sell?” I inquired.

“About 300.”

“For all your books?”

“Yes, unless you would assign your book on your own modules.”

I was growing fascinated by the numbers so I asked how many of these books they published each year.

“I have to…” he started (inadvertently revealing that this was a target that had been set) “…I have to publish around 75 of these.” … And he’s just one of their commissioning editors. …

Another colleague, on discovering his published book was getting widespread attention but was too expensive to buy, tried to get the publishers to rush out a cheaper paperback version. They ignored his request.

These may sound like stories of concern to academics alone. But the problem is this: much of the time that goes into writing these books is made possible through taxpayers’ money. And who buys these books? Well, university libraries – and they, too, are paid for by taxpayers. Meanwhile, the books are not available for taxpayers to read – unless they have a university library card.

In the US, taxpayers are said to be spending $139bn a year on research, and in the UK, £4.7bn. Too much of that money is disappearing into big pockets.

So what are the alternatives? We could stop publishing these books altogether – which may be advisable in a time of hysterical mass publication. Or we publish only with decent publishers, who believe that books are meant to be read and not simply profited from. And if it’s only a matter of making research available, then of course there’s open source publishing, which most academics are aware of by now.

So why don’t academics simply stay away from the greedy publishers? The only answer I can think of is vanity.

Of course the last bit is rather unfair.  An academic career requires publication in reputable format, and nobody can be blamed for doing what the system requires in order to feed their families.  But it raises disturbing questions of integrity and sustainability.

An edition of Contra Julianum serves a real need.  But the high prices and closed access compromise the entire system of academic publication.

All the same, let us congratulate Dr R. and his team.  Well done!  This was work of permanent value.

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Is “those whom the gods wish to destroy they first make mad” a classical quotation?

Last night I was reading Boswell’s Life of Johnson, and came across the familiar quotation in a Latin form, Quos Deus vult perdere prius dementat – “those whom God wishes to destroy he first drives mad”.  Therein it was stated that the Latin quotation was on everyone’s lips, but its source was known to nobody.

A Google Books search on the English version gives no hits before the mid-19th century.  Before then, the tag was circulated in Latin, it seems, with various word-orders and slight variants.

I think we can suppose that the English “gods” replacing “Deus”, “God”, is just a feature of quotation.  These tags are not transmitted as gospel, and a speaker or writer will modify them as he thinks gives the best effect.

But where does the Latin text come from?  Is it ancient?  In fact it is not.  It originates, as best I can tell, in the 17th century.

A Google Books search found me an article in the Monthly Magazine or British Register, vol. 51 (1821), p.520, in which a correspondent writes as follows:

To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine

SIR,

IN the following extract from Mr Boswell’s Life of Dr Johnson vol iv pp 196 and 7 your correspondent Poplicola in your Magazine for May will find his enquiry answered respecting the Latin line he quotes — “Quos Deus vult perdere prius dementat.”

With the following elucidation of the other saying:– “Quos Deus (it should rather be Quem Jupiter) vult perdere prius dementat,” Mr Boswell was furnished by Mr Richard Howe of Aspley in Bedfordshire, as communicated to that gentleman by his friend Mr John Pitts, late rector of Great Brickhill in Buckinghamshire.

Perhaps no scrap of Latin whatever has been more quoted than this. It occasionally falls even from those who are scrupulous even to pedantry in their latinity and will not admit a word into their compositions which has not the sanction of the first age. The word demento is of no authority either as a verb active or neuter. After a long search for the purpose of deciding a bet, some gentlemen of Cambridge found it amongst the fragments of Euripides, in what edition I do not recollect, where it is given as a translation of a Greek Iambick.

Ον Θιος ?̣ελει απολεσεις πρωτ̕ αποφρετας [I can barely read this]

The above scrap was found in the hand writing of a suicide of fashion.  Sir D.O. some years ago lying on the table of the room where he had destroyed himself.  The suicide was man of classical acquirements: he left no other paper behind him.

 ALLSHARPS
May 19th, 1821

This is interesting for several reasons.  Firstly, it gives a variant form, “Quem Jupiter”.  Secondly it refers to an early unspecified edition of Euripedes.

Which edition this is is revealed by another hit in the search, P. R. Reynolds, The Writing and Selling of Fiction, 139-140:

Joshua Barnes (or Barnesius, according to the custom of the time) edited the works of Euripides in 1694, Euripides quae extant omnia.  This including a collection of fragments of various tragedies, which appears in the work under the title Incertae Tragoediae.  The volume also includes three indexes, on unnumbered pages.  The first index is important to this story.

In this “index prior”, under the letter “D”, (Google books link), we find the following:

barnes_euripedes_index

I.e. Deus quos vult perdere, dementat prius, as found in the “Incerta”, on verse or line 436.  For of course this is drama, and each line is numbered.

Now this is certainly our quotation from Johnson.  But what precisely is the entry in the body of the text?  Again, we are fortunate that the volume is online, for we can locate v.436 here, and it is thus:

The Greek of the fragments appears in the left column, and is more or less as follows:

ταν δαμων νδρ πορσν κακ,
τν νον βλαψε πρτον

Which has been rendered like this:

But when the daimon plots against a man,
He first inflicts some hurt upon his mind.

The word daimon does not here mean “demon”, but rather has the twin meanings of “divinity” and “fortune”.  In his translation, Barnes uses “Numen”, rather than “Deus”, with this in mind.  In fact our saying is not Barnes’ translation, but instead a summary of the content!

So the Latin is in fact a coinage by Dr Joshua Barnes, in 1694, summarising a saying that he believed was a fragment of Euripides.

The fragment is found in the second century AD Christian writer Athenagoras of Athens, in his Supplicatio pro Christianis (Plea for the Christians), chapter 26, as Barnes himself indicates in his marginal notes on the passage above.

But I learn from this site that in fact it is a note on Sophocles Antigone, l.620, by a scholiast.  The idea itself is present in Homer, Odyssey, IX, 492-3.

In the tragedy Antigone, of Sophocles, in verses 620-623,  it said something similar:

For cunningly of old was the celebrated saying revealed: evil sometimes seems good
to a man whose mind a god leads to destruction.

The ancient scholiast on these verses says:

When a god plans harm against a man, he first damages the mind of the man he is plotting against.

όταν  ό δαίμων άνδρΐ πορσύνῃ κακά,
τον νουν εβλαφε πρώτον ώ βουλεύεται.

August Nauck collected this couplet as one of the fragments of his Fragmenta Tragicorum Graecorum (Leipzig.Teubner 1889), namely exactly the number 455 of Adespota or anonymous and therefore without author:

The couplet is in the scholia to Sophocles, Antigone, l. 620 …

The scholion is then quoted by Athenagoras.  Why the early editors attributed the saying to Euripedes I do not know.

Barnes also mentions the sayings of Publilius Syrus, in the 1st century BC, and the same site tells us that the Sententiae 612 reads:

Stultum facit Fortuna quem vult perdere

Fortune makes stupid him who she wishes to destroy.

But there is more.  For what about this variant “Quos Jupiter”?  It turns out that Barnes himself was working from an older writer, James Duport.

In 1660 Duport published his collection of sayings from Homer, Homeri poetarum omnium seculorum facile principis gnomologia, better known as the Gnomologia Homerica.  On p.262 (Google Books) we find the following comment, note a, on the section of the Odyssey:

barnes_euripedes_text duport_homerAfter reviewing a couple of instances of the thought, Duport quotes a portion of Euripedes, and then, expressing the opposite thought (Contra) he quotes the same line and translates Quem Jupiter vult perdere, dementat prius.  This gives us our variant.

It would be interesting to see what might be found in earlier editions of Euripedes, or any Latin translations of that era.  Most Greek works appeared first in a Latin translation, after all.  Unfortunately at this time I do not have much knowledge of the transmission history of Euripedes, so that must wait for another time.

To summarise, the saying as we have it is a 19th century translation of an index entry, written by Joshua Barnes in 1694 in his edition of Euripedes.  The entry summarised rather than translated the content of a couple of lines of Greek.  The lines were originally by a scholiast on Sophocles, quoted in the 2nd century AD by Athenagoras, and supposed to be by Euripedes by early editors of that author.   Barnes in turn was almost quoting James Duport in his 1660 work on the ideas to be found in Homer.

We may suppose that “Deus” and “Jupiter” were altered by some unknown speaker into “gods” in 19th century English, from an entirely correct feeling that the saying was not consistent with the character of God, but rather more with the outlook of the pagan gods of ancient Greece who, to quote a more modern source, “were petty and cruel, and plagued mankind with suffering.”

UPDATE.  I had meant to mention also the French editor Boissonade, who later gave a commentary on Euripedes in his Poetarum graecorum sylloge tom. XIX.  Euripides tom. 4.  In the 1826 reprint, again in the index, on p.322, we find:

Jupiter quos vult perdere dementat … 300

And on p.300,  which is scholia on the Bacchae, line 840, we get the Greek and then “sic quos vult perdere Jupiter dementat.”

UPDATE: An email from Andrew Eastbourne draws my attention to an article, F.W.Householder, “Quem deus vult perdere dementat prius”, The Classical Weekly 29 (1936), 165-7 (JSTOR).  This suggests that the Latin tag does not originate with Duport, but that he was referencing some existing form of the saying.

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From my diary

I apologise for the lack of blogging.  Ordinary life has been getting in the way, as it does for us all, and I am in the middle of changing job, which is always rather tedious.

I’ve not done anything further on applying for a grant for the Methodius translation.  I will; it is simply a matter of finding the time.

It looks very much as if I shall be uploading the Eusebius Gospel Problems and Solutions and Origen Homilies on Ezekiel volumes at Christmas time.  Sales for both have slowed to almost nothing; and the intention was always to make them available freely online.  A few months after that they will go out of print, as I cancel my deal with Lightning Source.  Again, only lack of time impedes this.

Nothing further has been done on translating Eutyches.  Nor have I heard any more about the translation that I commissioned of Andrew of Crete’s Encomium on Nicholas of Myra.  The sample was OK, and the reviewer sent positive comments; and then the translator went silent.

Today I’ve been working on a blog post on “Those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad.”  Maybe it will appear tomorrow!

I also need to change my Mithras pages to work on mobile devices, using responsive front-end technology.  Sometime.

I’d like to get away for a bit of holiday in the sun, once we get closer to Christmas.  But where to go?

I was thinking about Egypt, but the UK Foreign Office travel advice is now horrific.

It was always pretty awful, the way that Egyptians hassled you for money if you went anywhere by yourself.  I remember walking to the road at the end of the drive of my hotel, and, quite literally, being followed down the road by a group of Egyptians!  I also remember a pretty scary taxi ride back from Luxor to my hotel, in which the driver kept trying to detour.  But it seems to be much worse.

The travel advice now suggests that going around, except in a group with a guide who can fend off the harassment, is unwise.  It never said this before.  Large areas of the country are clearly in the hands of bandits.

I don’t quite see how I can reasonably volunteer for all that.  Let us hope that this unhappy country recovers to where it was before.  How little good, and how much misery, has the “Arab Spring” brought to Arab countries.

One thing that I do want to see sometime is the Graeco-Roman Museum in Alexandria.  This contains an interesting relief of the Lion-Headed god, from the cult of Mithras.  There was a Mithraeum near Memphis, probably connected with the Roman garrison there.  There is only one photograph of this relief, a bad one, which is reprinted.  I would hope to take another.  Unfortunately the museum is still closed “for restoration”.  I messaged Zahi Hawass on Twitter, and he confirmed this.

So … I don’t quite know where to go, that will give me sun and culture in December.  Jordan can be cold in early December; and the country is full of refugees and fighting men.

Another day, and perhaps it will seem clearer!

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A diadem of Serapis and a Fayoum portrait

Two days ago the British Museum twitter account posted this item, which seemed to me worthy of wider circulation.  They posted a picture of an item in their collection, together with one of the Fayoum mummy portraits depicting it in actual use!

This mystery object is a diadem ornament worn by priests of the god Serapis in Roman Egypt

Gold diadem-ornament, from a diadem of the priests of Serapis.
Gold diadem-ornament, from a diadem of the priests of Serapis.  c.1-3 AD. 10mm high.
Portrait of bearded man (BM portrait 1994,0521.12)
Portrait of bearded man (BM portrait 1994,0521.12)

The juxtaposition is pure genius.

The link goes through to the British Musem site, where bibliography may be found.

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